


Paper Hulk, Gray Rocks

by Ranni



Series: Reassembling [2]
Category: Avengers, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers assembling, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Natasha Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov's Arrow Necklace, Protective Tony Stark, Sick Clint Barton, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 03:43:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9801209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranni/pseuds/Ranni
Summary: Natasha runs from herself. Tony nurses a sick Clint.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The Tony Stark parts of this story directly follow my story "Whatever Happens Next".
> 
> The Natasha parts recount her movements after the ending of "Captain America: Civil War". There are also some references to the past between her and Clint as laid out in my other stories, but it isn't necessary to read them to understand what is going on.

******

  
The next morning Clint seemed worse instead of better. They sat down to a silent breakfast. Clint stabbed his fork clumsily into the eggs a few times, but never brought any up to his mouth. He swayed on the stool. Tony watched him with sharp, worried eyes, his body tense.

"Where are mine?" Clint asked suddenly, the fork clattering loudly to the table. He looked around, his face confused. "Where are _mine_?" he said again, louder, visibly upset.

"Your eggs are right there, Tweetie Bird, eat them," Tony said, trying for a light tone. Clint swung his head from side to side, looking ineffectually for....something. "Where are your what?" Tony asked. "Clint?" He touched the other man's arm, trying to orient him. "Hey man, what are you talking about?"

"Where are my clothes? These aren't my clothes." Clint's eyes settled on Tony then, glassy with high fever.

 _Well, fuck,_ Tony thought to himself. Then said aloud, "They're getting washed, Clint, remember? You borrowed some of mine. Look, here's your bag, though. Here it is."

Clint relaxed a little. He took the backpack from Tony and hugged it to his thin chest. Tony sat back down, tried to resume the meal. Then Clint started shivering hard, and Tony threw his own fork down.

"Bedtime!" he announced, though they had just gotten up. "It's bedtime for Clint." Tony pulled him off the stool and held his shoulders, steering as well as supporting. "How about you sleep in the guestroom this time? In an actual big boy bed." Tony half dragged him there, not waiting for an answer.

Clint got into bed without complaint, still clutching his backpack, curled his body around it.

"You gonna sleep with that?" Tony asked.

"You can't...you can't....you can't be Hawkeye without a bow," Clint said then, and his speech was so slurred and slow that Tony felt a surge of panic.

"That's it, motherfucker, I'm calling a doctor, and I don't care what you think about it."

"You can't be Hawkeye," Clint mumbled, then coughed hard and long, his whole body shaking. "You can't. A b-b-bow."

"Oh my God." Tony's heart felt it would pound right out of his chest. "FRIDAY, call Dr. Crawford, see if he can come here this morning for Barton. If not, try Belluzzo. And if he can't, start going through the damned phone book until someone will." Tony ran his fingers through Clint's sweaty hair, his hand shaking with adrenaline. Clint shuddered under his touch.

"You can't be," he said again, delirious.

"I won't be," Tony promised. "Go to sleep."

*****

 

For the first time in her life Natasha was aimless, had no mission, no goal.

She had been alone before, completely alone in the world, and even then she had not felt as lonely as she did now. As empty.

She went to Shield headquarters. They were cold, abandoned. She had thought scavengers might have picked the place clean over the years, but the building was eerily untouched. As if it were waiting for everyone to return.

Natasha went to a wall full of plaques, each filled with stainless steel plates, names of fallen agents on each. She went to the 1990's and searched until she found the name James Campion. Clint's first handler; Campion had trained the man to become Hawkeye.

"A good guy," Natasha whispered to herself, prying the nameplate off with a screwdriver. She put it in her pocket. "Jim Campion--a good guy." Clint's words in her mouth.

She went to the next decade and pried off the name Douglas Gaines. Impulsively, she kissed the nameplate before pocketing it. Doug had been dead longer than she had ever known him alive.

And finally she found the name Phillip Coulson. Her heart beat too hard as she worked the plate off, and she gouged the wood underneath with her screwdriver.

"I miss you, Phil," she said into the darkness.

*********

 

After the second month she tore the arrow necklace--a gift from Clint years ago--from her neck and threw it to the ground. Saw the glint of gold in the grass before she turned on her heel and walked away.

Later on she had felt foolish and childish--it was the only reminder of him that she had left--and went back to the park and looked for it. Had not let herself feel sad when the necklace could not be found.

*******

 

Dr. Belluzzo shook his head. "He needs to go to the hospital."

"No."

"He has pneumonia, malnutrition, dehydration. I'm worried about his mental state. He needs to be in the hospital. Today. Right now."

"He can't go to a hospital." Tony was adamant. He knew he would lose Clint for good if that happened, lose his chance at getting them all back. "You're just going to have to treat him here." Belluzzo started to protest and Tony shrugged. "You're just going to have to. It's the way it is. Whatever you need, I'll get it brought here."

The doctor sighed. "You'll have to hire a nurse."

Tony snorted. Spending money was the easiest way to solve his problems.

"All right, I'll make a list of what you'll need." Belluzzo frowned at Tony, looked troubled. "He could die."

"He won't," Tony said confidently. His confidence, his arrogance, was the first armor he had ever built. It was stronger than his Ironman suit.

And he always put on his armor when he was terrified.

******

 

In the fourth month Natasha rented an apartment in St. Louis.

She rode to the top of the Gateway Arch, looked down at the city, at the river, and felt nothing.

She signed up for an art class and for the next five weeks drew fruit, vases, flowers. One day everyone was supposed to draw the rocking chair in the middle of the room but instead Natasha drew the Hulk. Drew him with his face up, watching the sky.

That night Natasha tore the drawing to pieces and left the city.

She decided to drive west to see the ocean. She bought a convertible, thinking it would be nice to have the wind blowing through her hair.

Instead the wind in hair bothered her and that night she used her knife to cut all of it off.

******

 

Medical supplies came in, as well as a nurse, a young black man. Clint gasped when he saw him and reached out with a trembling hand, calling him "Doug" over and over. The nurse, actually named Andre, did not correct him, just started an IV line in Clint's thin wrist, then gently held his hand. He glared occasionally at Tony, as if blaming him for the condition of his friend.

Tony paid him no mind; he had been glared at by much scarier people.

And he blamed himself, too.

Dr. Belluzzo hung around until antibiotics had been started, then left quickly, saying he would be back later that evening.

Clint was delirious all day, still calling the nurse Doug and alternately thinking Tony was Phil Coulson or someone named Barney. "Doug," he gasped. Coughed. "Doug, we have to find Natasha." He shifted around constantly on the bed, too uncomfortable to sleep.

"Okay," the nurse said evenly.

"Come on, let's g-g-go." His teeth were chattering.

"We'll leave in a little while." Andre patted Clint's leg. Frowned.

"We have to get her, she's in Russia. She's dancing in the ch-ch-church. One of the windows is broken, that's why it's cold. Don't let Dad see you broke it; he'll be so mad." Clint cringed back against the pillow and shut his eyes tightly. "He'll be so mad," he whispered again, looking terrified.

"Well, I'm not afraid of Dad," Andre answered, sticking a thermometer in Clint's ear. He frowned at the reading. Said "Fuck" in the same mild tone that he said everything else. He started pulling off Clint's blankets, then his clothes.

Tony watched, his heart in this throat as the nurse bathed Clint's hot skin with a cool wet towel, Clint shivering hard the whole time and begging him to stop, alternately calling out for Laura and Natasha. It must have helped, though, because later his temperature was down a little and Clint finally fell asleep.

******

 

The sixth month Natasha went to Big Sur. She stood at the top of a large cliff formation, watching the waves crash. For one wild moment she imagined throwing herself down on the gray rocks below. She knew she would not be missed.

Then she noticed one of the gray rocks moving, and then another. She blinked in confusion and then realized she was not seeing rocks at all, but a group of seals on the beach, sunning themselves.

For the first time in months Natasha laughed. She watched them for the next hour, then got back in her car and headed East.

******

 

The next morning Tony grabbed coffee on his way to Clint's room, bringing an extra cup for the nurse that Clint had called "Sister Marie" through most of the night. She accepted the mug with a smile. She didn't seem like she hated him, so Tony liked her.

"Want a break?" he asked the nurse. "I can sit with him."

She nodded and left the room with her coffee. Tony pulled a chair over to the bed, and at the soft scraping sound Clint opened his eyes. "Ooops," Tony said with an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

Clint surprised him by shrugging. He flinched a little when Tony put a hand to his forehead, then lay still, watching.

Tony let out a long exhale of relief; Clint was still hot, but nothing like the day before, and there was recognition in his eyes. "You're better," Tony said, feeling almost giddy. "Thank God. Oh man." He sagged back in his chair, took a long drink of coffee.

Clint eyed the cup. "Can I have some?" His voice was hoarse, and speaking made him start coughing again. He dragged the arm without the IV in it up in a clumsy attempt to cover his mouth.

"Nope," Tony said cheerfully, "but you can have this." He plucked a can of Ensure from the breakfast tray, opened it and stuck in a straw. "Mmmmm, look, nutritional supplemental goodness. Wholesome and undoubtedly very delicious." Tony slipped an arm behind Clint's shoulders, sat him more upright, stuffed a few pillows behind his back. "Drink up."

Clint wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

"Come on, Clint," Tony wheedled. "The doc is about two minutes away from shoving a feeding tube up your nose. This is better." Clint didn't respond. Tony put a gentle hand on his arm. "Clint," he said, his face serious. "You have to."

Clint sighed loudly. Tony perked up a little; he had been on the receiving end of hundreds, maybe thousands, of long-suffering, theatrical Barton sighs. He hoped he was hearing one again.

Clint reached out and took the can from Tony, his hand weak and shaking so hard that some of the liquid sloshed out onto his arm.

Tony put his hand over Clint's, steadying it, and smiled radiantly when his friend managed to drink half of the small can.

It was a start.

The next evening Clint asked to borrow a tablet, to contact Natasha.

********

 

After months of silence, a message from Clint.

    Nat--I am in New York. At the Tower, with Stark. I'm not sure what happens now, but I do know I'd like to see you again. One more time, at least, if that's alright. If you tell me where you are, I can come to you.  
    I don't want to hurt you; I never did. You and I can go our separate ways, if that's what you want. Or maybe you and I could hide ourselves in the world. Get jobs, maybe even live in a house, where we could have more things than just fit in one backpack. We could take care of each other--you would not have to be so angry, and I would not have to be so sad.  
    Or we could kill people for money. I'm good at that.  
    Please answer, if you can. There's only the two of us now.  
\--C

  
They were the old words, from different times and all jumbled together, and seeing them now made her sad. And scared. Even in a written message they rang of hopelessness. She should be angry at him, wanted to be angry at him. He had promised her they would always stay together, but then had walked away with Wanda and left Natasha behind. He had not trusted any of them to come along as he sent his family into hiding. That had hurt, that he did not trust even her; hurt more than she could even admit to herself.

And now, this message. She thought about ignoring it, knew that she wouldn't. Only Clint could get to her this way, scratch through her defenses and draw her to him as fast as she could run.

She tore her eyes away from the words as if they burned. _Only the two of us now._ She began packing rapidly, efficiently.

Thought of their old partner, Doug Gaines, the Silverfish, dead in the street, a bullet in his neck. Silver's mother kissing Natasha's cheek at the funeral. _Take care of each other._

Thought of a phone call from Phil. _Barton's been compromised_. The memory still made her shudder.

Losing Clint. Hurting him. Getting him back.

Their two hands held together at Phil's funeral.

Thought of Bruce, walking away from her, never reaching out again.

Thought of the team, fighting one another. Watching soldiers grab Clint off the pavement, chaining his arms and legs even though he was unconscious. _Don't hurt him!_ she had screamed, while a grim Tony put a warning hand on her shoulder.

Thought about Clint's eyes after the rescue, how empty they had looked when he said goodbye to her in the Quinjet. "I have to make them safe," he had said. "Laura, the kids, Wanda. I'll tie up all the loose ends. And then...I'll come find you."

Natasha had known it was a lie. She could see it in the way Clint's face became a careful mask, the way it did before missions, the life bleeding out as he steeled himself to do terrible things. When he pushed Clint Barton away to make room for someone harder, who could do those things and still live. And when the mission was done, Clint would come back.

Natasha didn't think he was going to come back this time. She had looked deep into his eyes, and for the first time, saw no kindred spirit reflected back at her. The mirror between them had been broken.

Natasha had stood by Steve and they watched Clint and Wanda leave the jet and walk into the night. Wanda leaned heavily against Clint, his arm around her shoulders. He did not look back.

So many years ago, in Russia, Natasha had been alone. She did not imagine it would ever be any other way. Then had come Clint Barton, and he gave her a chance, and she gave him one back. He had been alone too. And the two orphans had built themselves a new family, a big happy one full of unusual characters, everyone seeming to fit right together.

A family gained, and then a family lost.

Now Clint was reaching out to her again. One last time, he called to her.

_Please answer, if you can._

_If you can give me another chance_ \--the plea behind the words.

They could start again.

The two of them together.

That had always been the start of everything in her life that was good.

********

 

 _Stay where you are_ , she wrote back. _This time I'm coming to you_.

 

 


End file.
